


Lessons In Drinking

by Aurealis



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Pepper Potts, Drunk Texting, Gen, Hangover, House Party, Irodad texts, Lectures, Mental Health Issues, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter doubts himself, Post-Iron Man 3, Protective Tony Stark, Texting, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony worries, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurealis/pseuds/Aurealis
Summary: Peter: I havn tPeter: veeen drinkingHe was going to kill this kid! Kill and set the corpse on fire. But not before kicking his sorry ass to the next year!He hit the dial button and luckily Peter answered.Or Tony takes care of a too drunk PeterInspired by Irondadtexts!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born because of the incredible Irondadtexts tumblr site. The text messages and phone conversation are from a post on the site and while you're searching for it, I strongly recommend you to read all the other texts that are there. They are their own lovely continuity.

The clock struck half past midnight, not that Tony Stark noticed it, he was too engrossed in the latest modification of the Iron Man suit. He tried to develop the air filtration system to better combat against potential biohazards. Call him paranoid but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

His phone chimed and he glanced at it: Whatsapp message from Peter. Yes, it was not unusual, they had not the time to meet every day, with their hectic schedules but they still stayed in touch, talking about this and that.

What was not usual was getting a message from Peter and that made him take another look and open the message. The boy could be injured outside of the suit, having nightmares or anxiety attacks or-

Peter: heeeeey mr t

Tony’s brows rose up. 

Tony: Mr T? 

He had a pretty good idea what was going on but for the sake of the kid, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt

Peter: Mr s  
Peter: S tark

Tony was giving this kid one more chance (he was going soft): Everything okay bud?

Peter: I havn t  
Peter: veeen drinking

He was going to kill this kid! Kill and set the corpse on fire. But not before kicking his sorry ass to the next year!  
He hit the dial button and luckily Peter answered.

“Okay so you’re drunk?”

Peter made a sound. Music blasted in the background and he could hear teens making noise, over what he did not want to know

“You’re drunk right?” He tried again.

“No.”

Smart kid, the man shook his head. One word sentences. But Tony had been the posterchild of troubled teenager and he knew every trick in the book.

“No! No! Would never get shrunk, I’m too young-“

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked out of the office and headed to his garage. 

“Yeah, you’re damn right you’re too young to drink!”

Tony made a mental checklist and took in a deep breath: no use in yelling, Peter wouldn’t be remembering it, if his slurring was any indication of his cognitive state.

“Where are you? Why the hell have you been drinking?”

Being calm did not negate the use of curse words.

“Haven’t been drinking,” The kid valiantly tried to defend himself and Tony grit his teeth.

“Peter, I’m trying to stay calm until tomorrow when you’re sober and I can rip you a new one. But you’re making it difficult by lying to me.”

Peter whimpered pitifully: “Sorry Mr T?”

That name, Tony feels like screaming.

“I’m at a paartey.”

The boy let’s out a ‘whoo’, obviously because the song changes to a more uptempo one.

“A party?” Tony nearly stops in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to a party tonight?”

No, he was not the kid’s parent but he liked to be on the loops. Especially considering the last time Peter went out, acting like a normal teenager, someone had spiked his drink and Ned had called Tony to the rescue. He had spent the night making sure the boy didn’t choke on his own vomit. Tony had been certain that experience would deter Peter from ever touching anything stronger than root beer. 

“I goyta drink for science!”

For science, some kids chanted in the background like a group of mindless followers. Peter seemed to have started a cult.

“For science?!” Tony screamed and cringes as he heard drinks sloshing, he could only hope none was offered to Peter. 

“I didn’t know if I could get drunk!” The boy screamed with a laugh. “Because I’m- you know- him!”

Thank god for the sense of censorship.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of your spandex clad alter ego.”

He made it to the garage and chose the car which is both fastest and easiest to clean up. He had been meaning to change the cushioning of his Audi anyway.

“Where are you, I’m coming to get you,” he directed the call to the sound system and started the car.

“Pataaay!” Peter shouts with other kids and quiets down. Please, don’t be doing shots, Tony prayed.

“Yea, I know a party but where!” He is too agitated to even roll his eyes. “What’s the address?”

He hears a thud, no doubt the phone has dropped to the floor. 

“Mr Sss- I don’t,” Peter gulps heavily as he picks the phone up. “I don’t feel great.”

Tony wants to be mad with the kid but hearing his tiny voice, he can’t help but feel sympathy.

“Yeah, alcohol does that to you. Where’s the party, Peter? Do I have to call Ned and ask him?”

Was Ned even at this party? He doubted it, last time Ned had been very responsible and sober. He couldn’t imagine him watching from the sidelines as his best friend got so   
hammered. 

“No, it’s same place as last time,” the kid forces out pitifully and groans. Tony sets the navigator to the last location and turns right. He remembered the place; it was luckily   
only about ten minutes from the Tower, on the part of the city with big houses and home to various stockbrokers. 

“Mr T- I- oh no no I think I’m drying.”

Hell yes you are, the man felt like retorting back. The kid should know alcohol dries up the system and he was willing to bet everything he owned that Peter had not had a glass of water the entire night.

“You feel sick? Have a headache?”

The boy does not answer, all he can hear is that blasted music. Tony feels like making an initiative to ban all stereos in the State.

“Peter? Peter you still there?” 

He waits, tries to hear any kind of sound from the kid. Had he dropped his phone?

“C’mon buddy, speak to me!”

No answer. He hits the accelerator, nearly running through a red light.

“You better be where you say you are because I’m on my way.”

Then Peter answers.

“Heeey mr T.”

Oh god kid, just let it go. He knows anything having the letter S is difficult to say when drunk but this was just humiliating.

“Yeah, yeah, kid, we’ve done that. “

He stops to let a young woman pass the road although he feels like running over her.

“Where are you exactly, Peter? Where in the house?”

The boy takes a while to answer, he hears shuffling.  
“Front uard.”

Peter is now noticeably struggling with words. He is grounding that kid until the next decade. 

“Okay, stay there, I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Do you promise?”

Tony can’t help but pity the boy. It was his first time drunk and although it has been thirty decades, he can still remember how awful he felt when he crashed down. He could only hope Peter’s morning after wouldn’t include nearly choking when vomiting up half-digested hot dogs.

“Yeah, I promise,” His voice is much softer than before. “Peter, of course I do.”

“I don’t feel good,” The boy whispers and spits on the ground.

“Just talk to me, okay? Have you thrown up?”

He doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be. If Peter has vomited, it means less alcohol in his system but it is also a sign of possible alcohol poisoning. Honestly, he doubts the kid is coherent enough not to choke if his body decides to rebel.

“I don’ remebr,” Peter sniffles. “Are you angy with me?”

“I’m more concerned than angry, Petey,” the man says, using the nickname that is reserved for when the kid is under the weather or otherwise needs comfort. Peter argues he hates it but Tony always catches a glimmer in his eyes when he is addressed with it. 

Peter lets out a choked laugh.

Tony takes a hard turn and drives by rows of familiar houses. The navigator informs he is getting close.

“I’m almost there and I’m going to bring you home and look after you until you feel better, okay?”

He can almost hear the kid nod his head: “Okay.”

“And then I’ll yell at you tomorrow,” The man can’t help to retort, he is so going to get back at the kid for making him worry so much. But after he has made sure Peter has had a long sleep, gallons of water and some bacon and eggs.

“I’m sorry.”

How can the words coming out of a fifteen year olds mouth affect him so much?

“I didn think I could srnk so I drank a- a- olt. A lo-t.”

“We’re gonna talk about it tomorrow, Pete. For now just focus on taking deep breaths and staying awake, can you do that?”

The party house is in his view. It’s looks the same as last time, even the same kids are hanging around in the balcony. Nothing seems to be different, there are same lights in the trees and same songs are blasting through the neighborhood. 

“Yeh. I love yo- you- Mr T.”

Tony allows the moment to happen: “I love you too, bud,” He smiles. He parks the car on the curb and steps out.

“Just stop calling me Mr T,” He slams the door shut and locks the doors. He doesn’t trust the apparent seniors who oogle his car with hungry eyes.

“Okay, sorry Mr T.”

Tony takes in a calming breath and scans the scenery, the picnic table, groups of people and the miserable figure sitting against the wall, hunched underneath a window. How come none had noticed the half-lid eyes and pale skin was out of his comprehension. Had kids been that cruel and ignorant in his youth? He can’t remember.

“Okay, I see you, you big mess,” He walks closer. “I’m here now, you’ll be okay. After not being okay for a few hours.”

He ends the call and Peter doesn’t realize for a second. Then his brown eyes look upwards and a smile lit his face.

“Hey Mr T,” Peter cries with drunken eagerness and stands up only to fall flat on his face.

“Jesus christ, Kid,” Tony can’t believe what he is seeing. His Peter, his straight A’s, genius, superhero protégé was wasted off his mind. He had witnessed the boy do incredible gymnastic moves, had observed his performance in battles and now, the kid could not even walk, let alone stand on his feet. 

Peter gets up on his elbows and flashes him a smile. His hair is a mess and clothes wrinkled and he reeks of vodka but at least there is no vomit on his face, it’s at least a small consolation.

“I love you,” Peter says and laughs. Tony rolls his eyes and helps the kid stand up. He has to take most of his weight and he ponders for a second if carrying him over his shoulder would be more effective.

“You’re the- best,” The boy points at his mentor. “I like you so so much. You’re just so-“

“Yes, yes,” Tony nods his head and looks around. “Is Ned here?”

Peter follows his gaze: “No, he was supposed to come here but got cold.”

That explains a lot, the man thinks and begins to haul the kid to his car.

“Hey mr,” Peter slurs his name so horribly it is not a sound a human should make. “Do you like me? Even a teeny tiny bit?”

“Peter, I came here in the middle of the night to drag your sorry ass to bed, we’re past the point of just liking.”

The boy didn’t seems to understand.

“Too many words,” he groans and sinks to a crouch. Tony struggles but manages to get the suddenly very dizzy boy to the passenger seat. Thank God he had parked with the right side towards the house. Peter leans against the backrest and breathes heavily, seemingly out of it until Tony starts to tie him in with a seat belt.

“What- What is-“

“Easy,” Tony guides the kid’s hands away. “Leave it be,” he buckles the belt in and makes sure is secure. As precaution he takes a plastic bag from the passenger side door and opens it.

“I hope you won’t throw up but honestly, you’re starting to look a little green.”

“I’m dizzy,” Peter mutters and sinks lower on the seat. Tony guides his head between his knees and encourages him to take deep breaths. The boy is coherent enough to obey but his skin loses more color.

“Peter, if you feel sick, just let it go, you’ll feel better.”

The boy shakes his head and straightens up valiantly, Tony has to admire him.

“Let’s just go.”

The man nods and rounds the car to his seat. The engine roams and Peter grimaces at the loud noise. 

“You’ll be okay,” Tony rubs the boy’s arm in support, the way he wishes his father would have done. 

The journey is silent, no music, no talking, nothing to make the ride normal. Tony misses the kid’s babbling, with rock music blasting from the stereos. Now all he can do is glance at the boy every couple of seconds to make sure he is still in the land of the living.

Peter’s eyes start to fall shut as his head nods against his chest.

“Hey!” Tony snaps his fingers in front of the boy’s nose and jolts him awake. “No sleeping until we are at the Tower.”

“I feel sick.”

As he says it, vomit starts dribbling down his chin. Peter tries to hold it in but his stomach spasms are too intense.

“Just let it out, Pete.”

The boy needs no more urging. He grabs the bag and retches. Tony winces in sympathy but luckily they are just at the garage. He parks the car and turns his head to the boy   
who spits into the bag and groans.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you were remarkable,” The man gets up and walks over to the boy. “Remind me to tell you of the time Rhodey and I went to this charity ball. They had the Lakers girls serving tequila shots. My car back then had orange seats, not after that night.”

Peter tries to chuckle but fails as tears fall from his eyes. Tony takes the bag and drops it into the garbage can. They make their way silently to the living quarters and there Tony faces a shock. He had hoped the kid would tire himself out but instead, throwing up seemed to have spiked up his energy.

“I love this place!” Peter runs to the windows and Tony has rush after him to ensure he does not open the balcony door.

“Now, let’s get you something to eat,” he takes a hold of the kid’s arm and drags him towards the kitchen.

“Nooo, it’s so pretty!”

“Yes, yes, sky is pretty.”

Peter steps into his way and locks eyes with him.

“You know what?”

“What?” He humors the kid. Peter is silent for a moment but then snorts.

“I forgot!” He bends over in laughter. The voice echoes in the hall and Tony shushes him.

“Oh!” Peter is in an ADHD episode, like a kid who had too much sugar. He runs to the bar and grabs a bottle. “I want this!”

“No!” Tony tried to be nice but this is where he draws the line. He snatches the bottle from him and places it on a higher shelf.

“Tooonyy!” The boy whines. “It’s good!”

“You are already in the verge of getting your stomach pumped.”

“Why? I feel great!”

“Peter, what comes up must come down.”

“I already threw up, I must have more,” Peter takes a whiskey bottle but before he take a swing, Tony forces it out of his grips, slams it to the table and turns his furious eyes   
to the boy.

“I’m not having you die under my watch!”

The boy’s eyes glaze over: “Would I fit there?”

The kid was lucky he loved him, there were very few for whom he would stay this patient.

“C’mon,” Tony guided the boy to the kitchen and sat him on the floor, he didn’t trust him with a stool, he would only crack his skull open.

“First lesson in drinking, Peter,” He took a pizza box from the fridge, his lunch, and sat down beside the boy. “Never drink on an empty stomach.”

He holds a slice of mozzarella-pepperoni pizza to the kid’s mouth. Peter is wary for a moment but then takes a small bite, so small he doesn’t need to chew on it to swallow.

“Nope,” Tony shakes his head. “Chew properly or it will be hell to bring it back up. “

Peter shivers and a tear slides down his face. 

Tony doesn’t know what to do. Even after a year of knowing Peter, he is still very new to gestures of affection. He cares for the boy, there is no doubt about it, but the man is used to showing it through money and grand gestures and a witty comment here and there. Peter is different, from a completely different world, where people were open with their emotions because others could be counted on noticing them. Peter was a hugger, with a constant smile, and Tony wants to be able to return the gestures but he can’t. 

There is a lock in his mind that he can’t bypass. Not for now at least.

The boy sniffles and takes the pizza slice.

Tony feels awful. He gets up and grabs a washcloth, he rinses it under the tab until it is warm. Peter’s eyes follow him as he gets on his knees and wipes at the tear tracts.

“You poor thing,” the man whispers and rubs the boy’s temples, trying to ease a building headache.

“Tony,” Peter says. “Do you hate me?”

What?

“No,” The man shakes his head and wipes away the tears that follow. “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged with half-lidded eyes. “Sometimes I get that feeling.”

“It’s just your anxiety speaking,” Tony stands up and fills a glass with water. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Just what he needed, Tony rolled his eyes. He was well aware Peter’s self-esteem left a lot to be desired and honestly, he couldn’t understand why. He was a great kid, better than anyone.

“Sometimes it feels like the entire world is against me,” Peter cries softly.

Note to self, Peter is a weepy drunk. Never take him to a bar.

“Drink this,” He ignores the tears and holds the glass to the boy’s lips. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Peter gulps down the drink, obviously wishing it was something else. Tony takes the glass as the boy rests his head on his mentor’s shoulder. Tony smiles softly and ruffles the boy’s hair, easing out some tangles.

“You’re such a mess,” he chuckles in pity. Peter cries and eats the pizza. 

“I am a mess. I made you come and get me. I’m such an idiot.”

“Peter, I know you are drunk but I won’t have you hating yourself.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” tears ran down his face.

“Kid, it’s alright,” The man rests his cheek on the boy’s head. “I’m not angry at you.”

“But you should be! You should have left me there! You’re so best at everything!”

He let the kid rant, only humming along in pauses.

“Tony, I think you’re the best there is. You’re the best person, and you’re Iron Man, Iron Man is best and you’re like a-“

“Okay, it’s your bedtime!” The man stood up and tried to drag the boy up.

“Tony, no!”

“Tony, yes.” He mocked and swung the boy over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Holy shit!” Peter shrieked as they made their way out of the kitchen towards the guest room. “You’re strong! Like Iron Man!”

“Yes, Peter, it’s kind of the point,” Tony adjusted his hold as the boy tried to jump off. Yes, he worked out but carrying Peter is no effort, the boy was like a small bird. 

He kicked the door open and dropped the boy on the bed. His body bounced on the mattress and Tony moved over to unlace his shoes. 

“Do you want to change clothes?” Tony asked as he took off Peter’s socks and stuffed them inside the sneakers for safekeeping. 

“Tony,” Peter smiled as the man took off his belt, ”have I ever told you you’re the best?”

“Only like a minute ago,” the man muttered as he rummaged the closet for a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an overlarge Black Sabbath t-shirt that originally belonged to him. “C’mon,” he tapped the covers, “Sit up.”

Changing pants was no problem but shirt was a task, Peter seemed to have lost all sense of coordination. He got tangled in the sleeves.

“Okay, first head,” Tony rolled up the t-shirt and helped it on. “Right arm, no, your right.”

Peter slumped against the man’s chest and closed his eyes. His breathing was beginning to even out.

“It was fun,” the boy slurred. Tony gently laid him down and turned onto his side.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he moved the boy’s right hand under his face. “I want to ensure there is no hindrance to your breathing. “

He pulled Peter’s left arm back to balance him. Covers slid over the boy’s body. The man took extra care that the pillow was supporting Peter’s head.

“There’s a trashcan right next to you if you get sick again. I’ll stay with you tonight so say if you need anything. Is your head okay?”

“Yeah,” the boy sighs. “The world is spinning.”

Tony brought his hand to the boy’s head and started caressing his hair. “Yeah, that’s no wonder. Is it bad?”

“Not really. Not like a concussion.”

“Alright, you’ll live.”

The man laid down behind the boy, his hand continuing the motion. Peter started breathing deeply in and out. Tony could still smell alcohol in the kid’s hair and it brought flashbacks to his own darker episodes. 

It was just a one-time thing, he tries to reassure himself. Many teenagers drank and peer pressure can lead to unsafe behavior. This was not a sign of any deeper problem. Peter had issues, sure, but he was not suicidal. He made a mistake, had a few too many. It was just dumb luck that spider genes did not single out the effects of alcohol. In another reality, drinking this much might not have had ill consequences.

“Kid.”

Peter keeps sleeping.

“You would tell me if there was something wrong, right?”

Peter makes a sound in his sleep.

“You would say if you were depressed? If your thoughts suddenly got dark and life lost meaning? You would call me to help out? You wouldn’t make any drastic decisions?”

Maybe Peter needed therapy. He had obvious abandonment issues, Tony had read last month’s Psychology journal. Also the guilt complex was something they needed to work on. Before he met Peter, he had no idea word “sorry” could be used in so many contexts. 

His thoughts were interrupted as Peter turned on his back and groaned.

“No, no,” Tony sat up. “On your side-“

His words were cut short as Peter gagged. In a second, Tony had him on his stomach, with head resting over the trash can.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as the boy coughed and emptied his stomach. Tony rubbed his back in circles while he held his forehead with his other hand. Peter whimpered as another gag hit him and Tony made sure he did not fall of the bed. Stench was overwhelming, Jesus what had the kid drank? Vodka was obvious, tequila, beer and yep, there was a piece of the pizza.

“Help,” Peter tried to keep his stomach in check but it was no use, he was puking again. Tony patted his back, making sure the kid did not choke.

“I’m helping, I won’t leave. You’re safe here.”

Almost as suddenly as they had started, gags stopped and Peter fell limp. The man rolled him back to the bed and set to emptying the bucket and rinsing it before the stench made them both sick. He returned the container to the same spot and sat on the bed. With gentle hands, Tony gathered the boy into his arms and set his neck to rest on the crook of his arm. Peter was spent and hovered on the border of unconsciousness. A glass of fruit juice sat on the night stand and he brought it to the boy’s lips.

“Peter, you have to drink,” the man ordered as the boy fought back. “You are getting dehydrated. Next step is the IV.”

Threat of needles always worked. The boy took a cautious sip and when his stomach stayed calm, Tony poured more into his mouth. Maybe he imagined it but Peter’s skin seemed to gain more color as sugar and vitamins were reintroduced to his system.

“Yes, the second lesson in drinking: water only worsens the hangover, I prefer sparkling water or juice and sodas.”

There were a couple of more lessons but they could wait until Peter was 21.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles through a hangover and a talking to with Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, here is a continuation! I seriously had no intention to write more chapters but this plot just kept rolling in my head and instead of my Master's work, I wrote this (common problem, I assure you).

The next day Peter spent between bed and toilet. He couldn’t keep anything down. None of Tony’s so- called hangover cures worked on him. In fact, the boy was certain his mentor was slowly poisoning him.

 

“Can you die from a hangover?” Peter whined, head miserably on his arms. 

 

“Anything can kill you,” Tony answered, expression somewhere between pitying and amused. He scraped the bacon from the pan, dumped it on the plate that already held scrambled eggs and placed the meal in front of the boy. 

 

“Try this,” He dug a fork from the utensil box and offered it to Peter. The boy did not raise his head from the cool counter.

 

“C’mon, your body needs salt.”

 

“I’ll just throw it back up.”

 

“No you won’t,” Tony shook his head. “Trust me, you’re on the mend.”

 

“I don’t feel like it,” The boy shivered. His eyes were bloodshot, hair wet from the shower and head pounding in his temples. For a second, Tony felt sorry for the boy but then he remembered that Peter had brought this on himself. The man placed the fork in the boy’s hand like he was a toddler.

 

At the moment, Pepper emerged from the bedroom where she had changed her outfit for a business dinner.

 

“Happy is waiting downstairs,” The woman stepped into the kitchen while fixing a diamond earring and looked between the pair. “Will you two manage?”

 

“Certainly,” Tony nodded, confidence lacing his voice. Peter stayed silent and Pepper felt sorry for him. The boy tried to eat but only dared to put the tiniest amount of eggs into his mouth. He was still pale but the greenish hue was now thankfully gone.

 

She had never considered herself a motherly person so it was surprising how strongly her caring side manifested itself whenever Peter was around.

 

“Try to feel better, sweetheart,” She kissed the unruly hair and Tony frowned in concern: usually Peter would have smiled, giggled or acted embarrassed but now he merely said: 

 

“Don’t do that, I’m gross.”

 

“Oh, Peter,” Pepper clutched his shoulder and pressed her cheek to his ,” I was Tony’s assistant for years, I have seen way worse.”

 

“True,” The man nodded, he was the first to admit he had gone through wild years. 

 

“Just promise us you will never drink yourself to that state again,” The woman said heavily and Peter flushed slightly. He had very little recollection of the previous night, his first conscious thought had been waking up in bed with Tony sitting next to him watching television and eating a bowl of chips.

 

“Is hangover always like this?” The boy whispered with a broken voice and Tony set down his cup of coffee. A part of him wanted to lie, say that blackouts always followed consuming alcohol. But he tried to maintain honesty with his protégé, that way Peter would feel safe and hopefully come to him with his problems. 

 

“It depends on many things,” The man ended up saying. “This is your first, of course it is terrible because you have nothing to compare it to.”

 

“Spider bite.”

 

“You’re young, hangover lasts only for a day.”

 

“This is easier then,” Peter twirled the fork in his fingers. “I was sick for days.”

 

Pepper saw the boy was only playing with his food, not putting anything into his mouth.

 

“Try water with salt if you can’t get anything down,” She gave her final advice and petted his hair. “I need to leave now.”

 

Tony gave her a kiss goodbye, usually he would have walked his fiancée to the elevator but now he remained standing by the stove. He raised the abandoned cup of coffee and drank the cooled beverage. He was used to all-nighters, they were practically his motto, but making sure your kid didn’t choke in his vomit took energy out of him.

 

He turned his head to Peter and was pleased to see a portion of the very late breakfast was now gone.

 

“Is it good?”

 

The boy shrugged: “I guess, my taste buds are all mixed up right now.”

 

“I didn’t season it, I figured plain food would be better for your stomach.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

The silence was unnerving. Peter was one to never shut up, and frankly, Tony enjoyed the chatter. Even when the kid was sick he usually babbled in nervousness or delirium. One of the best conversations Tony had ever had was when Peter had a fever of 104. The kid had lost even the last tiny bit of brain-to-mouth filter. The man was certain they had come very close to explaining the existence of the universe.

 

Now, Peter grimaced at the food and took a sip of his water. Tony took a chair opposite of the boy and a sat down. Peter lifted his gaze, expecting a stern lecture.

 

“I am very disappointed in you, Peter.”

 

The boy looked like a kicked puppy and Tony had to fight his urge to forgive and forget. This was important, he needed to make Peter see reason.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What are you sorry for?”

 

Peter played with the eggs, slicing them even mushier.

 

“I woke you up. You had to come and get me.”

 

“That is not it.”

 

The boy shook his head: “Sorry, I- I honestly don’t remember.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Peter looked perplexed. Tony set down his coffee and leaned forward, arms crossed on the table.

 

“You know I am against underage drinking but I understand if you want to have one or two drinks with friends. I would be a fucking hypocrite if I didn’t. I’m mad about you drinking but I am disappointed that you lost control.”

 

Peter lowered his gaze, eyes shining, whether in sadness or pain, Tony did not know.

 

“Anything could have happened, Peter.”

 

The man kept his voice low, not because he minded the boy’s sensitive ears but because he needed Peter to understand. Dark thoughts were running through his mind.

 

“Did you even think?”

 

Peter shook his head.

 

“Exactly. You were drunk off your ass in Manhattan. You could have gotten mugged, assaulted, taken advantage of. I found you nearly passed out on that lawn.”

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark.”

 

A tear rolled down Peter’s cheek and Tony had to bite his lip to keep himself from reaching out.

 

“I don’t need your excuses. I want an explanation. Why did you drink so much?”

 

“I-“ The boy starts, not knowing where to look. His gaze wonders from his plate to Tony’s eyes and to the wall. “I don’t know.”

 

“Do you remember anything about that party?”

 

“I remember going there,” Peter offers readily. “I took one drink, I know one drink doesn’t do anything to me.”

 

“And then?”

 

“Pretty much nothing. I have no idea what I did.”

 

“You said Ned wasn’t at that party? Were you nervous by yourself?”

 

Peter shrugged while biting his lip and that is enough an answer for Tony.

 

“Peter,” He rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of the situation. “I understand drinking to calm your nerves but it usually stops with few beers. You don’t end up in the state you were in from that. At one point, you started throwing up while lying on your back. Kid, you hadn’t called me, we might not be having this conversation right now.”

 

The boy lowered his head and his shoulders started to shake.

 

“I’m sorry,” The boy whined for the millionth time in that day and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

 

Tony was not sure how much longer he could keep playing the bad cop. His heart nearly shattered at the sight of the kid, his kid, crying his heart out in fear that the damage was irreparable.

 

“Peter, I am concerned. This is not like you.”

 

The boy shook his head and nodded.

 

“You know you can talk to me if there is anything on your mind. At any time of the day.”

 

“I know,” The boy choked out.

 

They were both silent for a moment, both waiting for the other to speak up first. Tony realized he needed to be the adult.

 

“You said some things last night,” He trailed his finger on the rim of his coffee cup. “I know you don’t remember it but- some of it was slightly worrying.”

 

Peter sniffed and shrugged: “I can’t say anything.”

 

“I have it saved, you know Friday records everything.”

 

“I don’t want to see it,” Peter lifted his head, words stumbling out of his mouth so fast Tony had to think them over. “Could you just tell me?”

 

Just the words themselves would not explain the whole story. Tony looked to the side as he tried to think and remember last night.

 

“You were very upset, crying.”

 

“Okay,” Peter nods, his voice soft like a whisper.

 

“Then,” Tony pauses and rubs his beard ,”you just- you asked if I hated you. Said you sometimes get the feeling that you are hated and that the world is against you.”

 

The boy lowers his gaze again, he doesn’t want to face his mentor.

 

“I know I am not the best at relationships but I can’t think of one time when I have said I hate you. Maybe my actions-“

 

“I guess I was still a bit bummed about the Ferry Incident.”

 

“That wasn’t hate, Peter,” The man says levelly. “You have not seen real hate.”

 

“Mr Stark, I know you don’t hate me, but sometimes-“ Peter pauses and tries to gather his thoughts. “I get this feeling that I- I’m nobody. That I am worthless. And the world is against me bit-“ the boy laughs darkly. “How could I not think of that?”

 

Tony is almost scared as asks the boy to elaborate. Peter tells him everything that Tony already is familiar with but now there is a new undertone. This time Peter includes his feelings: isolation, hopelessness, grief, anxiety and all their little friends. It was a goddamn miracle that the kid was as sane as he was.

 

The talk is wearing, emotionally exhausting and by the end Peter is spent, slumped in his chair, looking about ready to dash into bathroom to throw up for the tenth time in that day. Tony is clueless, he tries to think back on all his therapy sessions, digging through a drawer of advice he has gathered from visits and self-help books. This is not his area of expertize but he is desperate to help.

 

“Petey-“

 

It’s like the nickname is a kickstart. Peter slams a hand over his mouth and runs down the hallway to the shared bathroom. Tony doesn’t waste a moment in hurrying after him.

 

“Peter!”

 

He reaches the boy just as he lifts the toilet lid and brings up the meager dinner. Bits of bacon and eggs slump in the water and Tony looks away to avoid adding to the mess. 

 

“You’re okay,” He whispers as Peter gags loudly. He kneels behind the thin frame and rubs his back in comforting circles while his other hand keeps Peter’s bangs from his face. 

 

The boy spits and rests his elbows on both sides of the rim.

 

“Ow,” Peter whines with a high voice and grips his head on his hands. “My head hurts.”

 

“Okay, so no more trauma train for tonight,” His mentor says with a soft voice and he flushes the toilet. Peter is given a small glass of water, the first mouthful he spits out but the rest he drinks slowly, wishing and praying his stomach has settled down. 

 

Tony occupies himself with a washcloth. He first drowns it in cold water but then thinks that for headache warm compress might be less of a shock.

 

“Lay down,” he grips Peter’s shoulders and moves him a bit farther from the toilet bowl so there is more room. Peter grips his head as the sudden change in position upsets his brain.

 

“You’re quite dehydrated now, kid,” Tony states softly and places the compress on the boy’s forehead and over his eyelids. Peter swallows and takes in a few quick breaths. The man frowns as he places the boys feet on the edge of a bathtub so that his legs are elevated.

 

“If you throw up again, I’m taking you to medbay and setting up an IV.”

 

“Okay,” Peter says, voice weak and rough. Tony rubs his face and then runs his hand up and down the boy’s legs, attempting to get blood to his brain and vital organs.

 

“You know what I think?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“When where you bitten by the spider?”

 

Peter groans as he thinks. 

 

“Last year, February.”

 

“And when did your uncle die?”

 

“March 10th,” The answer is quick. “10.21 PM.”

 

Tony nearly cries at the fast reply.

 

“You were there, weren’t you?”

 

He knows Peter was. He knows Peter held his dying uncle in his arms. He knows Peter cried for help but it was all too late. The bullet pierced Ben Parker’s aorta and he bled to death in front of his nephew, his child.

 

“Peter,” Tony knows he has to be careful, very considerate and tactful about what he will say next.

 

“How would you feel about seeing somebody?”

 

The boy doesn’t answer.

 

“You went through so many traumas in such a short time. I know you are moving on but kid, relapsing is not a sin.”

 

Peter just breathes deeply but Tony knows he is not asleep.

 

“You know I have my fair share of issues: alcoholism and PTSD. Sometimes I have good times, thinking I am just fine, then one word, one scene, one smell or such and I’m back to where I started.”

 

“I’m not you.”

 

“And thank God for that, but seriously, kid, I think it would be of help. You can still talk to us, to me, but therapists are professionals and can give you tools to help with issues.”

 

Peter bites his lip.

 

“You have gone to therapy?”

 

“Many years now,” Tony nods. 

 

“Does it really help?” There is a trace of hope in the kid’s voice. Tony stretches his arm to take a hold of the boy’s hand.

 

“Very much,” he runs his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “It’s quite fun actually, you get to talk about yourself with no interruptions.”

 

The boy chuckles and Tony considers it a personal victory. 

 

“It’s like an interview but you run that bitch.”

 

Peter’s smile is now obvious and Tony’s heart nearly melts. He was ready to do anything just to see that curve of lips.

 

“You can try it one time, if you don’t like it there is no pressure to keep seeing them.”

 

The boy groans and moves the washcloth away from his eyes to look at his mentor.

 

“Does it make me crazy?”

 

Tony understands the concern. When he first started therapy, he thought it was a sign of deep disturbance. That you would get marked for all eternity as weak, that he couldn’t handle reality and normal setbacks.

 

“No,” The man shook his head. “Crazy is keeping things in, letting the agony continue. Maybe therapy won’t help you but trust me, it won’t make things any worse.”

 

Peter ponders on the words for a minute, his aching brain thinking over the solution. Complex thoughts escaped him so he went with intuition and heart. Mr Stark seemed to gain a lot out of talking to a professional and he recommended him. To Peter, his mentor stood on a pedestal next to God. What he said was the law.

 

“I- I might like to try that.”

 

He stifles another dry heave and Tony has him up by the arm before he even realizes.

 

“Alright, kiddo, c’mon,” The man has his arm over his shoulder and a tight, secure hold over his slim waist. “There is a bag of saline solution with your name on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are equally appreciated.


End file.
